Mrs Rainey
by Vianne Lee
Summary: A girl opens her door to a shocking surprise...has Mort done it again? Or should I say, will he do it again? Short story. Please R&R.


My bloodshot eyes could barely stay open as I fumbled with the kind in the lock. I was extremely exhausted. Being up for seventy-two hours straight could do that to a person, and I wanted nothing more than a giant sleeping pill and my bed. On the drive home, I could imagine the soft suede comforter enveloping my fatigued body and my head resting on a feather pillow where I would finally be able to shut my eyes…intentionally that is. At that moment, sleep seemed to be more valuable than gold.

The door finally burst open, but my bag instantly plummeted from my grasp and hit the floor with a thud. "Holy shit!" I mumbled and had to lean against the bureau to keep my balance. A man was lying leisurely on my bed, flipping through the pages of a hunter green notebook. He was donned in gray slacks, an inky sweater, and a ratty turquoise striped bathrobe that hung loosely from his lean frame. Ash blond hair fell rowdily from his head, a few strands the same deep, secretive brown of his eyes.

"This is very good, he said lifting his gaze from the notebook and twisted a smile at me. My knees began to tremble and I felt my fingernails imprint the dark cherry oak of the bureau.

"Where did you get that?" I stammered, glaring at the notebook like it was a form of black magic. I recognized it immediately; the well-read papers crinkled from beneath the dilapidated green of the cardboard bindings. It was my writing ledger from not even a year ago, but I had watched it burn; the flames of fire consumed it until it was only particles of ash in the hearth. And now, here it was, just as I had last remembered it, in the hands of a man whose stares had gored into my every organ. "I don't believe I know you," I said at last.

"That doesn't matter. I know _you_, Mrs. Rainey." Said the man in a deviant southern drawl.

"You're mistaken," I'm not Mrs. Rainy." I gulped. "My name is Vianne."

"No, _you're_ the one mis'taken, Missus Rainey." His voice alone was like a thousand needles piercing through my flesh. He stood up, walked over, and circled me with bitter critiquing eyes and a twisted smile before gently pushing the door closed. I stood frozen, too petrified to even shudder.

"You're not real." I whispered to myself, taking a deep breath. "You're not real. You're only a figment of my imagination."

"Prove it." He said sharply, standing so close to me that I could feel the waft of his breath kiss the tip of my nose.

I bit my bottom lip and walked over to a chest of drawers. "Okay," I said feeling the man's presence looming close behind me. Opening the drawer, I pulled out my DVD, "Secret Window." "There," I handed it to him. "You're not real. You're _only_ a character created by Stephen King. You're _only _a character in this movie played by Johnny Depp. _Nothing_ more. So really, I know _you_, Mort Rainey. You're don't exist." I tried to be assertive, but I sounded more like a whimpering dog than anything else. He hardly looked at his own face on the DVD before tossing it behind him. His face played a smirk that made my gut twist and he sat back down on the bed with a knowing smile.

He took a black velvet case from his inner robe pocket. "No, I believe you're mis'taken ag'in, Missus Rainey." He said stroking the case as if it were a loyal pet. My eyes quivered when he opened the case and the gold and silver screwdrivers shimmered in the light and gleamed in the lenses of his glasses. My gaze stayed locked on the tools displayed like the finest jewelry, each resting on a cushion of velvet. There were four of them, two Phillips and two standard, and he brushed his hand over them, as if contemplating which one to use, before he snapped the lid shut again.

He rose to his feet and walked toward me, and I found myself backing slowly away until I hit a wall, horror possessing my eyes. "You're sure purdy, Missus Rainey," he said, and seized my wrist so hard that I could hear the crackling of my bones, and pain surged through my arm like it was set ablaze. As I winced, he smiled a bloody smile that made me want to vomit. Suddenly, he began to whisper something. It was so quiet that I strained to hear it, but it grew louder with every step he took. "Mr. Rainey had an ax…Gave his mother forty whacks…when he say what he done…He gave Mrs. Rainey forty-one." I gasped as I saw the fires of Hell flicker in the pupils of his eyes and he hand rise above his head, a blood-dripping ax held lethally in his white-knuckled grip. "…Her death will be a mystery, even to me," he hissed and gored the ax into my chest…

I sprung up into a sitting position, and exasperated breaths left my body in pants. I was drenched in sweat and trembled so badly I wasn't sure I could stand. "It was only a dream," I reassured myself as I staggered over to the light switch. "Get a hold of yourself." But as I flicked the switch, my wrist throbbed with indescribable pain so badly that I yelped and hot, blistering tears scorched my cheeks. In the light, I noticed that my wrist was swollen and splotched black with bruises. I attempted to make it back to my bed, but sunk to my knees when I heard a crack beneath my feet. Lying beneath me was my "Secret Window" DVD, and a single crack blossomed from Mort's face. Abruptly, the screech of my alarm clock bellowed, shattering my eardrums into a thousand pieces. I glanced up at the furious red digits of the clock. It was only four past midnight.

VianneLee2004


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